It was the night before picture day at Owen’s school, and he had pen on his face so I was making sure to scrub it off him in the bath. Then, apparently because I am a mean person, I told him that maybe the pen would sneak up the stairs in the middle of the night and creep into his room and try to draw a mustache on his face. As one does. So then Owen decided he needed to set up a guard in his room, and drafted all his stuffed animals to serve in his pen-fighting army. Now most of the surfaces in his bedroom look like this:
And days later, when I suggested that it was time to put them away, he gave me a horrified look and said, “But Mom! The pen still might sneak in and draw a mustache on my face!” Oh dear. Does your kid need to be creeped out? Because I’ll be glad to think of something that will torment him or her. Apparently it’s a talent of mine.
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